


Obscenities

by CorpusInvictus



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpusInvictus/pseuds/CorpusInvictus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Star Trek XI Kink Meme prompt: "Kirk likes/gets turned on seeing Spock do totally average, everyday or human-y things. Whatever you want them doing but please bottom!Spock." My first attempt at a bottom!Spock. Oh, and I laid in a nerdy reference to another sci-fi show early on. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obscenities

James Tiberius Kirk, despite acting like a headstrong idiot a great majority of the time, is actually a bit of a genius. He's not a genius in the straightforward way like Chekov or Scotty, but in more of a roundabout mad professor way; why bother with a solution to the impossible Kobayashi Maru when he could simply code something to make things go his way? Why regroup with Starfleet if they can blow the Romulans back into another black hole?

He likes his headstrong idiot persona, though. No one suspects that he's paying attention to anything. They seemingly forget the ridiculous solutions he produces out of nowhere, oblivious to his eavesdropping and quick thinking until he's on the bridge flailing over his latest stroke of brilliance.

It's also the kind of genius that works best with some kind of focus directing it, and with Nero dead and a hundred boring planetary politicians to meet with, Kirk's focus is dwindling to the tedious minutiae of daily Enterprise life.

First he discovers that Uhura likes to scroll up cringe-worthy cinemas on her view screen when she doesn't have anything to translate. There's a period of about ten days where he tries to catch glimpses of them out of the corner of his eye when he's on shift. There's one about a doctor who keeps his fiancee's head in a pan. Another about a secret agent tracking down a virus in Belgium. Yet another where spiders take over the earth, starting in what appears to be rural Iowa (he decides later this is the best one). After a dozen or so films, though, he's finished with them.

Then he manages to hack into Scotty's transmission accounts and spends days trying not to laugh himself stupid at the man's obsession with tribble breeding. You'd think it would be an easy hobby, but he takes it as seriously as he takes astrophysics, leaving comments on other owners' studs and bitches and writing long, vitriolic complaints about them. But just one shift of that and Kirk's seen all he ever wants to regarding tribble mating habits.

Two days and that's about as much as he can take of Chekov's poorly stashed Russian pornography files. There's nothing remotely sexy about blue balls, and even less so when they're caused by Delta Vega-style temperatures.

Bones, it turns out, is the most boring bastard in the known universe, as the only vaguely interesting thing Kirk can find on him is that he spends an ungodly percentage of his salary on whiskey and bourbon.

Twenty seconds into one of Sulu's animation files and he has to switch it off or risk snorting himself into an aneurysm. He knows from experience that tentacles do not work like that.

Then he's left with Spock, which is a damn shame because he can't think of anything he wants to pry into. His mind meld with his older counterpart has left him oddly respectful of his Commander's boundaries, and he treads lightly along them even when he's being purposely irritating. He knows that in another life, in another reality, there was _something_ there, something more than a close friendship supporting fantastic professional chemistry, and oddly enough he doesn't want to jeopardize that potential in the present.

Then one day, when everyone has either left the bridge or is deeply engrossed in their respective duty stations, he hears the sound of a soft, "Shit." He looks up sharply, wondering which one of his crewmates wussed out so completely on a curse. He can't contain the surprise when he realizes it's Spock, glaring murderously at his view screen.

Well, okay, he isn't _glaring_. He is _gazing_. Intently. And muttering, but he's doing it so quietly that his lips are barely moving.

And perhaps he is focusing on the wrong thing here, because the principal point of the matter is that Commander Spock, one of the most highly respected officers in Starfleet, swears at his computer.

It's a rare delight after that, a bright spot in a day otherwise consumed by tedium and data reports. It only happens when Scotty or Chekov has been messing with something that causes the computer system to hiccup. And it only happens when Spock seems sure that no one is paying attention.

The first few times it's downright hilarious and Kirk has to hide the grin behind his hand, faking a thoughtful pose. It shifts slowly into an endearing quirk only he knows about the usually unflappable man.

And then one day, when the computer is being particularly uncooperative, Spock lets loose with a nearly inaudible, "Fuck." Kirk goes hard in his chair.

And then it's an obsession.

He finds ways to sneak into the computer coding, to lay in various bits of garbled code that might cause a minor mishap if one of the other cadets on board doesn't catch it first. A lot of the time they do, but every few weeks something sneaks through and he'll get to hear Spock run his mouth again. It no longer matters how tamely Spock is swearing. Every whispered word, no matter how innocuous, translates in Kirk's brain as another, "Fuck."

Which, understandably, later translates to, "Fuck me." It doesn't matter that Spock's never actually said that exact phrase. It's what Kirk hears in his head, every single time the technology acts up on him.

He starts getting a little more daring. He inserts new coding into the mess hall templates, forcing Klingon cuisine on Spock at breakfast. He makes a new adjustment in the bridge temperature gauge, keeping it nice and cool for the human portion of the crew and just above freezing to an increasingly annoyed Spock. He even overrides Spock's command codes, changing them to something entirely different, locking him out of his own quarters so he's forced to swear inaudibly in the hallway.

He hasn't masturbated this much since he was thirteen. All he hears in his mind, all day long and through a significant portion of the night, is that controlled, even whisper of, "Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me."

Days after Kirk changes Spock's command codes, there's a quiet evening on the bridge. There's some sort of Orion Independence Day celebration marked in the Starfleet calendar, so he's let most of the crew off for the night. For the first time he can think of, the only two people on duty are himself and Spock.

There's a blip of static on Spock's view screen before his data goes all garbled. He whips around in his swivel chair, dark eyes pinning Kirk in his own, and rumbles, "Captain."

Of course, Kirk only hears, "Fuck me," and it takes him a moment to realize what was actually said. By that time his pants are already feeling tighter, and he crosses his legs in what he hopes is a casual manner. "Something the matter, Spock?"

"You have been tampering with the internal coding system."

Kirk waves the sentence aside, trying to keep his expression neutral. "Why bother? That's child's play after screwing around with your precious Kobayashi Maru simulator."

Spock stands and begins a slow walk towards the Captain's chair. "You are the only crew member with the capability, motivation, and lack of sufficient professional responsibilities to indulge in such childish behavior."

He's getting harder with every step closer, but despite that there's a little surge of irritation. "What do you mean, lack of professional responsibilities? I'm the Captain!"

"And as Captain, you have access to every simulation, schedule, system, formula, and transmission stored in the Enterprise computer." Spock is standing right in front of him now, close enough that Kirk notices his nostrils flaring the slightest bit. Suddenly he remembers a snippet of conversation he had with Bones, something about Vulcans' increased olfactory senses, and he realizes the man is literally scenting his pheromones. One dark eyebrow twitches upward.

He's caught. He knows he's caught. He tries charming his way out of the situation anyhow. "Could've been Chekov. Can't let those mad mathematical geniuses get bored. The results can get messy."

"I cannot imagine they are half as disastrous as the consequences of an insufficiently entertained Starfleet Captain." The dark eyes flicker downward for the barest flash of a second, but it's just long enough for Kirk to realize what Spock has seen.

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, realizing that he's lost where they were in the conversation. He makes one last desperate attempt. "It's your fault, you know."

"How is the malfunctioning of the computer system in any way related to myself?"

Well, if he can't charm his way out of this with astounding logic, he'll resort to Plan B (Plan B is, always has been, and always will be: sex). He slides out of his chair as sleekly as he can manage, one hand on Spock's ass, the other on the back of his neck, and rubbing himself up against his thigh. "It was the swearing," he murmurs roughly into a pointed ear.

He is shocked when he isn't immediately shoved back into his chair. Doubly shocked to see a faint green tinge traveling along the man's jaw and into his ears. And absolutely fucking floored when Spock thrusts back against him, an answering hardness pressing against his hip. Kirk pulls back enough to see his face, the shock mirrored in his eyes and the slight parting of his lips. "I-" Spock licks his lips and tries again, but whatever stilted apology he offers is drowned out by Kirk's brain replaying that one small gesture about ten times in succession.

"Captain?" he hears distantly when he's been silent for too long.

"Jim." He corrects this all the time, but it seems especially relevant now.

"Sir?"

"Jim. If you're gonna hump my leg and let me grope your ass without giving me the Vulcan Nerve Pinch, do me a favor and call me Jim."

"Jim," Spock repeats dutifully, and he looks like he's ready to argue the rest of the matter when Kirk reaches back and presses one of the buttons on the Captain's chair. "Sulu?"

"Yes, sir?" comes the distant response.

"You're needed for command duty on the bridge. Now." He releases the intercom button before Sulu can ask questions, pressing himself closer to Spock. "We better find somewhere else to be before he gets here."

He can't quite believe that Spock follows him to his own quarters, looking maddeningly unaffected aside from the twitch of an eyebrow when Kirk barks out the command code to open the door. He attempts innocence. "What?"

"You have altered the codes required for entering the officers' quarters."

"Only yours and mine. Couldn't have you thinking you were the only one having technical difficulties." He grabs Spock's wrist and pulls him into the room, pinning him up against the wall the moment the doors have sealed. "Do you have any idea how hot that sounds?"

Spock's eyes go wide and dilate when Kirk rubs against him again, that green tint trickling along his features for the second time tonight. "To which sounds are you referring?" he rasps, fingers sliding deftly under Kirk's tunic, removing it and tossing it to the floor.

"Shit," he mutters against his jaw, setting his teeth along the cords of his neck and biting down to emphasize the word. "Fuck," he whispers hotly against a pointed ear while he works at the fastenings of Spock's pants.

"You- you have not answered my question," Spock manages after a brief stutter, and oh god, that stutter is almost better than an obscenity. Either one means Spock has lost the tiniest bit of his self control, and Kirk is quickly discovering how much he loves that, how much he wants to be the cause of it.

"Shit," he mutters again, but this time in frustration. He manages to get Spock's pants undone, but his attempt at removing the man's shirt is hindered by being pinned to the wall. Spock reaches to help him as he tries to explain himself. "It was you. Swearing," he says before he's working madly at his own trousers - wanting, _needing_ to be naked, needing to feel all that hot skin pressed up against his own. "Every time the computer pissed you off-" he hisses as they finally manage to get rid of their uniforms, cocks rubbing against each other maddeningly when he pins him to the wall again. "Every time," he starts again, "you'd swear at it. Didn't think you even knew how."

"Doctor McCoy," Spock hisses back in explanation, fingers scraping along Kirk's shoulder blades.

Kirk takes a moment to suck eagerly at two of his own fingers, reaching between them and starting to work at relaxing Spock enough to accept them. "Bones taught you to curse?" he rasps, licking a reverential trail down his chest, trying to chase that greenish tint with his tongue.

"H-he found my usual reaction to be..." He trails off, eyes squeezing shut and head thumping against the wall when a slick finger works its way into him. He swallows the moan in his throat and continues, "... to be too repressed for his liking." He doesn't quite manage to swallow the second moan when the other finger tries to join the first, shifting uncomfortably and wrapping a leg around Kirk's hip to help him get a better angle.

"He tell you what they mean?" Kirk groans somewhere in the vicinity of Spock's left nipple, right before he scrapes his teeth over it.

Spock draws in a rasping breath, back arching into the sharp sensations, a low hum of approval building in him as Kirk's fingers start fucking into him. "Yes," he whispers.

Kirk presses his mouth against Spock's ear. "Shit," he groans, pressing hard into Spock's prostate.

"Fecal matter," Spock grounds out before he simply can't swallow the moan down anymore. "Jim..."

He takes the hint, removing his fingers and lining his cock up against his entrance. "Damn."

"Archaic reference to the holy wrath of a higher power or deity." How can the man sound so unbearably hot reciting what equates to a lecture on obscenities? He hitches his leg higher around Kirk's waist, wordlessly begging him to continue.

Kirk couldn't hold back any longer if he wanted to. He presses forward, hissing at the heat and tightness surrounding him. "Fuck," he whimpers into Spock's ear, and it's a prompt and an exclamation all at once.

"Yes, yes, this," Spock stutters again before his head hits the wall again, blunt nails digging into Kirk's shoulder and back.

He pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts back in, hoping to hit an angle that drives him out of his mind. "Say it," he moans, and it's less of an order and more of a plea.

"Fff..." It's as if he can't bring himself to say it when he's actually doing it. He shifts again, trying to find the perfect angle, his mouth gone slack and breath rasping loudly in his chest.

Kirk takes the opportunity to seal his mouth to Spock's, exploring the roof of his mouth, the slightly sharper teeth, the hot probing tongue while they strive to find their rhythm. The first time Kirk hits his prostate, Spock groans right into his mouth, and the sound nearly does him in. He pulls back from the kiss, pressing him further against the wall and thrusting into him again, shuddering when it pulls another groan from the Vulcan. "Say it," he says again, this time a whisper of breath against his jaw.

"Fff," Spock tries again, and he's clenching his fingers so deeply into Kirk that he's drawn blood. "F-fuck me, Jim," he finally manages.

It is the sound of his own name rather than the obscenity that breaks any semblance of control Kirk has over the situation, and he does as he's told, fucking up into Spock as deeply as he can, bruising one another in their efforts to destroy one another.

"Jim," Kirk hears distantly over the roaring sound in his ears. "Jim..." And it isn't an obscenity anymore, but a calling, something reverent, pleading, private. "Jim..." And with a few more thrusts they're gone, words unintelligible in the shudders and gasps that follow.

They slide to the floor in a graceless heap in the aftermath, neither of them strong enough to hold up the other. It's anything but comfortable - no carpeting in these damn flagships - but a few bruised elbows and aching knees never killed anyone.

"Fuck," Kirk rasps when he can find words again, threading his fingers into Spock's hair and pressing a hot, licking kiss against his neck.

"Indeed." But it's nowhere near the clipped, controlled tone Spock usually uses.

"I gotta fuck around with your computer more often."

There's a low chuckle, and the expression on Spock's face has softened just enough to vaguely resemble a satisfied smile. "A request, Captain."

He doesn't correct the title. It's actually kind of sexy when he says it naked. "Hmm?"

"Cease tampering with the nutritional controls."

"Oh all right, no more Klingon shit for breakfast."


End file.
